


In Hearts of Darkness

by McKay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 00:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11002344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/McKay
Summary: Severus' body is a map of pain and pleasure.





	In Hearts of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008.

Severus Snape never set out to become a werewolf. He never made the conscious decision to have wild, frantic sex with a werewolf that involved biting and clawing (on his end; Remus had been remarkably restrained the first time, but only the first time). He certainly never made the conscious decision to have it _again_ (and again and again and...). But he had, and it had caused him to realize two things.

The first thing was that he liked rough sex. _Really_ liked it. Fortunately, Remus did too, and they were both adept at mending clothes and cleaning blood off the sheets.

The second thing was that he didn't mind becoming a werewolf; he had been touched by darkness from a young age, and it seemed fitting somehow that his twisted life had come to this particular conclusion. It was, like most things in his life, something that had happened to him without him making the choice to allow it, but unlike most things in his life, he had embraced it once it had happened.

Outwardly, he appeared the same except for his ears, which were now pointed like Remus', although the lank strands of his hair hid them most of the time. He still wore austere black robes with a high collar and an endless row of buttons. His robes also hid the perpetual map of their love-making on his body: bite marks, bruises, deep scratches. Remus' shapeless trousers and wool cardigans served the same camouflage purpose, and when they were out together - Severus silent and frowning, Remus calm and smiling - no one could look at them and guess what secrets their clothes guarded.

Only when they were alone did Severus display his markings, proud but private. Only he and Remus knew the story the markings told. Here on his neck - his death wound. Here on his shoulder - the first place Remus had bitten him. His life wound.

It had all begun with that one bite. Severus had been on his knees, clinging to the headboard of Remus' bed until his knuckles turned white as Remus pounded into him; suddenly, Remus had snarled and fastened his teeth on Severus' shoulder, biting down harder and harder, worrying the skin until it broke, and Severus cried out and came untouched, crimson stains blooming on the white sheets beneath him.

Afterward, Remus had been horrified and apologetic, swearing it would never happen again. Severus had glared at him and growled, "It had damned well _better_ happen again."

And it had. Remus had grown more comfortable with unleashing that side of himself in bed, and Severus had developed a taste for raw meat and felt a prickle under his skin each time the full moon rose, but he didn't transform. Not yet. Not until the night Moony had overpowered Remus. Overpowered the effects of the Wolfsbane Potion, which supposedly wasn't possible. It had been a full moon like any other until Severus had seen the humanity fade in the wolf's golden eyes, replaced by feral cunning that was focused on him; in hindsight, he wasn't certain what had provoked it. Perhaps because he was marked already and Moony smelled blood or perhaps because Moony wanted to claim his mate properly. Perhaps both.

Whatever the cause, the result had been Severus waking up the next morning with his back stinging, scored by Moony's claws, and a bite on his thigh that would change his life forever. Under the circumstances, Severus thought he ought to have been the one raging against fate and decisions constantly taken out of his hands, but instead, Remus had done that. For once, the calm facade was shattered as Remus vacillated between fury and despair over what Moony had done. Severus had listened, and when Remus finally fell silent, he had only one thing to say in response.

"Moony didn't harm me. He made me his equal. I realize you never wanted to turn anyone, but if you had to turn someone, at least it was your mate."

When the full moon approached the following month, Remus had seemed to suffer a renewal of guilt, hovering over Severus as if he was a frail invalid while Severus busied himself with brewing the Wolfsbane Potion and trying not to roll his eyes, and when the moon rose, they ran together under its silver light, snapping, playing, and chasing rabbits.

After that, the sex became rougher, neither of them afraid to unleash the wild darkness in their souls, knowing the other could take it - _craved_ it, even. Afterward, Remus ran a hot bath to ease the ache of bruises and strained muscles, and he put floating candles in the water, which he called "romantic atmosphere" and Severus called "soppy nonsense". But Remus didn't stop doing it, and Severus didn't protest, merely nestled against Remus' chest and grumbled about the dire consequences should one of the damned candles catch his hair on fire.

Here, there was no blood or biting, only gentle stroking, and Severus relaxed, made drowsy by hot water and satiation; the candles and caresses were more for Remus' benefit, a small way to reassure himself that he was a civilized man, not a beast. Severus didn't need such reassurances, although he enjoyed lounging in Remus' arms; he knew what - and who - he was, perhaps more secure because he had been turned later in life. Or perhaps the darkness didn't bother him as much as it did Remus because he had wrestled with it in a different way. Remus might be the monster, but Severus was the murderer. That he too was one of the "monsters" now seemed only fitting.

Sometimes they lingered in the bath long enough to renew their vigor, and when Remus took him again, it was at a maddeningly slow pace that made him keen and writhe and finally howl, the sound reverberating off the walls as water sloshed over the side of the tub and puddled on the floor, soaking their towels. Afterward, Remus warmed the towels and dried off Severus before drying himself, and they collapsed naked in bed. Remus snuggled close and curled around him, one arm flung across his waist, possessive and protective even in sleep.

_Mate_ , Severus sometimes thought as he lay drowsing in Remus' arms, rolling the word around in his mind to see if he still liked it. He always did. Mate. Pack. The words spoke of belonging as much as the marks on his body did. Best of all, he knew it went both ways. He never asked if Remus had taken a mate or bitten his lovers before. He knew. This was his, just as Remus was his.

Severus had never set out to become a werewolf or a werewolf's mate or part of a werewolf's (admittedly small) pack, but it had happened, and for the first time in a very long time, Severus had something to be proud of.


End file.
